


Small bites

by Florchis



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-06-25 15:31:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 12,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19748602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florchis/pseuds/Florchis
Summary: Drabbles written for AOSFicNet July Drabble Challenge.





	1. "Oh, don't worry, they're going to love you!" + Philinda

**Author's Note:**

> No, I don't write true drabbles. Yes, I still thought I could take part in this. 
> 
> [ Here](https://florchis.tumblr.com/post/186055807736/aos-drabbles-masterpost) is my Masterpost, I am still accepting prompts here or [ on tumblr](https://florchis.tumblr.com/ask).

Melinda is worried. It doesn’t matter what she says; it doesn’t matter that there is no physical evidence to prove his point. Phil knows her enough to know which neutral face is anger. Happiness. Mischief.  
  
And this one is worry.  
  
Her hands are firmly pressed between her back and the wall, preventing the bad habit of picking at her cuticles. He would like to hold them, stroke the back of one in a reassuring gesture, but things are not like that between them anymore.  
  
(Have they ever been?)  
  
Now, he is leading a select team, and she is his pilot. Nothing less, nothing more.  
  
Still, he can not see her tense as an arch without feeling the need to do something to ease her nerves. Teammates can be friendly, right?  
  
“Don’t worry, they are going to love you.” 

She doesn’t even give him a glance, and Phil forces a smile away.

“I don’t care about what they might think. I am only here to be the pilot.”  
  
He fights again the urge to touch her; insted, he bumps his shoulder against hers, gently. She returns the favour, forcefully, and at least they are being childish together.  
  
“And yet they will.”


	2. "How did we get here?” + Coulson&Daisy

Daisy opens the fridge and peruses the options before settling on an open bottle of white wine- Coulson is not very fond of the light beverages, but she feels like something sparkling and sweet. She pours two glasses and after giving him one, clinks the one she is still holding against his.  
  
“For staying alive.”  
  
Coulson does that thing where it seems like he is about to start laughing but refrains at the last moment and he ends up doing just a movement forward of his chin and chest.  
  
“For staying alive,” he finally concedes.  
  
Daisy takes an appreciative sip of her glass and takes comfort in the silence for a minute.   
  
“Do you ever ask yourself how did we get here?”  
  
“I know exactly how we got here, Daisy.” His reply is not unkind, but firm. “Like it or not, your life has always been tied back to S.H.I.E.L.D.”  
  
“Yeah, I know.” She tips the glass all the way back, her lips tingling. “But I was thinking mostly about how grateful I am that a series of fortunate events brought me to you, specifically.”  
  
Coulson is tipping the glass one way and then the other, his eyes fixed on the bubbles climbing the walls of the glass.  
  
“I think that again, like it or not, we always had been tied to each other, Daisy.”


	3. “Not you again..” + Quakerider

The moment she sees him getting out of the crowd she is trying to surf in, Daisy knows she is going to sneak up on him and do whatever it takes to get him to notice her. It is not that she is childish; the serendipity of their run-ins has stopped being annoying to start being funny. Or at least to her: she is not exactly sure he shares the same sentiment, though he won’t have much say in the matter.   
  
“Hey, Roberto!” She calls to him with a saccharine-sweet voice and enjoys every second of the way he turns around and his face literally falls at seeing her.  
  
“Not you _again_ ,” he snarls, his face turning stone-cold just at the sight of her, and Daisy reins in the impulse to plant a kiss on his lips, just for the kicks. “Is it not enough to fuck with me during my nightlife, you also need to fuck with me during my daylife?”  
  
She has a witty retort on the tip of her tongue, but then luck turns even brighter for her, and someone- his brother, she imagines based on the research she did on him- comes from the bathroom and eyes them both with suspicion.   
  
“Robbie, who is this?”  
  
“I am Daisy. Nice to meet you, Gabriel.”  
  
Daisy turns on a ten-thousand watts smile and offers her hand enthusiastically. Gabriel shakes it with some suspicion, and Robbie is brooding so hard she can almost hear it.  
  
“And dare I ask, how have you met dear Robbie here?”  
  
This is the moment she has been waiting for all this time. Saving people’s lives and catching bad guys are nice, of course, but what is the point of a vigilante life if you don’t get to screw with your partner-slash-nemesis’ real life.   
  
“Oh, you know.” She blinks exaggeratedly, and Gabe is trying really hard to not pull a face. Robbie’s frozen discomfort at her back is almost palpable, and she is thriving on it. “We might have shared a cold, lonely night here or there.”  
  
“Oh, right. Nice to meet you, then.” She was expecting to deflate Gabe’s interest with the implication that she is/was one of Robbie’s sexual partners, but the boy doesn’t turn down the intensity he is leveling on her. “Hope you enjoy the movie, Daisy.”  
  
She waves at them while they leave, and when Robbie turns an angry stare with puckered lips on her, she just blows him a kiss. It doesn’t matter if the movie sucks, or if he once again stoles a win from under her feet: her night has just been made.


	4. “You’d be a great dad.” + JemmaRobbie

“Would you like a cup of tea?”  
  
“Not unless you said ‘tea’ where you meant 'beer’. Or at the very least, coffee.” Robbie grimaces, drags a hand down his face. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that.”  
  
“A chamomille cup for you, then.”  
  
He is grateful anyway when Jemma places a steaming cup in between his hands. The warmth is comforting, and it gives him something to do besides wring his hands in worry. It also comes with a free kiss on the top of his head, and that is not nothing.  
  
After that, Jemma sits down on the other side of the kitchen table, and Robbie sneaks a glance at her. It is not the first time she has kept him company during one of his over-worry sessions, waiting for Gabe to come back home, but usually, she uses the time productively or at least tries to engage him in some form of conversation. Tonight she is uncharacteristically quiet.  
  
“Tell me what it is on your mind.”  
  
“Mine? Nothing.”  
  
“Jemma.” He turns on her one of those stern glances that don’t work on either her or Gabe anymore, but he is gotta keep at least some pretense of authority. “There is something on your mind. I can tell.”  
  
Tonight, another rarity, she relents under his scrutiny.   
  
“I was just thinking that you’ll be a great dad.”  
  
“Mmm.” He tilts his head to the side, considering. She is looking at him with laser-focused attention, and sometimes her intensity still takes him by surprise. That is a weird topic for her to bring up tonight. “You mean I _would_ be a great dad.”  
  
“No.” She keeps looking at him till he has to avert his eyes. “I said what I said.”  
  
The realization hits him like a truck.   
  
“Jemma?”  
  
“Surprise?”


	5. “I’m pregnant” + Mackelena

When the discussion about who will stay on Earth and who will set off for the big space adventure comes around, Elena knows perfectly what she is going to do. Mack nudges her gently, reminding her that because he needs to stay it doesn’t mean that she has to; they are, after all, not a fixed item.  
  
Elena wants to be mad about it, to feel rejected and like he is taking advantage of any opportunity to get rid of her. But since she is deciding to stay because of her own agenda, she is not the best one to be calling the kettle black. And yet, tensions rise high, and there are one too many frictions because they are all grief-ridden and pushed to the end of their capacity, and when he reminds her once again that it’s still not too late to take off with the Zephyr, Elena snaps.   
  
“I am sorry you want to get rid of me so badly and I am being difficult about it.” Her voice is shaking with anger, and she knows that she is being unfair, but what is fair about this whole _escándalo_ they are navigating together.  
  
Mack looks utterly tired and something churns inside Elena’s stomach.   
  
“ _Mi amor,_ why would you say that? I want you with me. But I also want you to be free.”  
  
“But I am not!” She grimaces as soon as she is done saying it, and Mack gives her a long, sad stare. “I am not free, because I love you.”  
  
“Elena, I-”  
  
“No. _Déjame que te explique._ ” She made this bed herself, now she gotta lay on it. She has been trying to find a good moment to tell him, and though this doesn’t feel right, it is what it is. It is what they got. “I can’t go to space with the team. Because I’m pregnant.”  
  
Mack sucks in a raspy breath, and Elena waits anxiously for a reaction on his part. Anyone would be fine, really, but when he just sits down on the bed, his hands covering his face, she feels like she is about to go insane.  
  
“Pregnant. You are pregnant.” His voice comes out muffled from between his fingers, and her skin crawls.  
  
“Yeah. _Lo siento_ , I know this is not the best moment, but-”  
  
“No. It is the best moment.” He yanks on her hand until she is sitting on his lap, and his broad arms circle her hips. Elena lets herself be engulfed by this man and feels like home for the very first time in long weeks. “I know it is dangerous, but life is always fucking dangerous on this side of life, and I can not think of anything else more worth fighting for than you and our child.” 


	6. "I fucked up" + Pipsy

If there is something worse than losing the big match of the season to your school’s longstanding rival, it is losing the match _and_ the girl.  
  
She doesn’t feel like seeing a soccer ball ever in her life again, but at the same time, all the good moments of her school life have orbited around soccer; it has been a comfort in the bad times and a joy in the good ones, and once everyone else has cleared the locker room, Piper’s feet take her to the field of their own volition.  
  
She sits on the middle of the field, despite of the moist grass and the evening cold. It is soothing, in a way, to be allowed to be small and still in this very place where she spends her days running and shouting.  
  
“Piper?” She doesn’t need to turn around to recognize Daisy’s voice, and all the calm that was building inside her body topples down at the mere sound. Piper closes her eyes, resigned to her fate. If there is something worse than losing the match _and_ the girl, it must be being forced to confront such girl. When she opens her eyes again, Daisy is sitting next to her, already in casual clothes, her hair wet from the shower. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Sure.” She turns her head to the sky, to not be forced to look at Daisy’s face. “If you leave out the fact that I fucked up, sure, I’m okay.”  
  
Daisy squeezes her hand, and Piper feels like she is about to collapse, the antithesis between her heart-rate picking up at the contact and the tears that she is trying to keep at bay.  
  
“You did not fuck up. You were amazing, Pipes.”  
  
“Except for the fact that I fucked up your perfect ball delivery.”  
  
“Hey, look at me.” There is nothing she can do against that clear command, and when she looks down into Daisy’s soft eyes, her heart clenches pleasantly in her chest. “One mishap doesn’t mean you weren’t the greater-est player in the field.” They both laugh at the incorrect term, and Daisy moves her hand to Piper’s elbow. “There is no one I would rather have as my teammate than you, and that is more important than any score, don’t you think?”  
  
Piper swallows down, her throat suddenly dry.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I do.”


	7. “You’re cute when you’re angry.” + DaisyLance

“Come on, I know you can give me better than that.”  
  
Daisy jumps in place, her hands up in a defense position, and avoids easily the next punch Hunter throws at her.   
  
“Who taught you to fight like that? Your mother?”  
  
She can see the moment he starts seeing red, because his speed increases but also does his impatience, which doesn’t help him in using his opportunities in a wise way.   
  
“I have seen boys fight better than that in schoolyards!”  
  
She stays alert, swinging one way and the other to help her conceal her weak side. When Hunter throws his entire weight in one arm, Daisy takes advantage of the way he leaves his left side completely unguarded and sweeps him to the floor with one leg. Man, how she loves that move.  
  
Hunter is heaving on the floor, and Daisy offers him a hand to help him to his feet.  
  
“I need a break.”  
  
“I know.” She gives him a hand towel, a water bottle, and a swift kiss. Training together is important, but it is also important to be able to differentiate and not let problems arisen in the field or the training seep into their personal lives. “Let’s take ten together.”   
  
He nods, and they sit together on the bench. He is being uncharacteristically quiet, and Daisy eyes him carefully.  
  
“Hunter,” she finally calls his attention when five minutes have passed and he has not said one word. “You understand why I did that, don’t you?”  
  
He heaves a long sigh, and that snaps him back into being himself.  
  
“Of course, love. Because my technique is good, but I have a bloody temper and I can’t lose my mind in a fight with someone who won’t be as kind as you.”  
  
Daisy nods slowly, placing her hand on top of his on the bench.  
  
“Good that we are on the same page about that.” Hunter gives her a smile; it is weak, and he sure has some things he still got to work through, but who don’t have them in this bonafide organization of trauma? “There is also another reason, though.”   
  
He turns over her hand, his index finger stroking gently the inside of her wrist.  
  
“And what is that?”  
  
Daisy places her head on his shoulders, and she sighs when he tangles his hand on her hair.  
  
“You’re cute when you are angry.”  
  
“Hey!”


	8. “About the baby… Its yours.” + Fitzhuntingbird

After the first unsuccessful attempt to get up the couch, she just stops trying. If she gotta spend the next three weeks laying on there, so be it. The only problem with that is that her doctors ordered her to walk around and not sit still, but her feet and the watermelon she swallowed are refusing to cooperate, so what can she do?  
  
The furthest problem is that- heeding the doctors’ orders- the boys refuse to be as obliging as they were two weeks ago. Which sucks, because, you know, swollen feet and a watermelon that feels like will come out wobbling out of her body at the minimum sway.  
  
“Fitz, hey. Fitz.”   
  
He turns around and looks at her from the other side of the living room. She beacons him with a finger and an enticing smile, and though he resists for a moment, he finally relents. Bobbi ignores the instinct to pump her fist in the air (mostly because it sounds too exhausting).   
  
“Yes, Bobbi?”  
  
He is standing with his back too straight, and Bobbi struggles to sit up so the height difference is not that bad. She knows he’s got his defenses up, so she might need something a bit more consistent to get what she wants out of him.  
  
“Come here, honey.” She can see the uncertainty on his eyes, the way they flicker nervously to the kitchen and back to hers, so Bobbi tries to redirect his attention to her by taking his hand. “I have to tell you something. About the baby.” She makes a pause for extra effect. “It’s… yours. So would you be so kind as to give an extra pillow to this uncomfortable baby of yours?”  
  
Fitz listens to the last word of her ruse with a stoned face, pats her awkwardly on the hand once, and yells in the direction of the kitchen, “Hunter, Bobbi is trying to get out of walking for things by telling me that the baby is mine!”   
  
Bobbi pouts at him, and despite his betrayal, Fitz squeezes her hand sympathetically. Nothing ventured nothing gained, she supposes.   
  
Hunter comes storming out of the kitchen, apron tied unevenly, half-mad and half-laughing.  
  
"What the hell, Barbara? Do not try to trick sweet Fitz and do your bloody exercises!”  
  
It might be counterproductive, but Bobbi throws the pillow she does have to his face.  
  
“It’s also yours, asshole, so help me out here!”

Hunter throws the pillow back at her, and the gall of him, doing that to his very pregnant partner.

“It’s _our_ baby, and if they get up and walk to the room to get their own pillow, their dads promise it will make it worth it for their mommy.”

Bobbi pouts, but Fitz is still stroking her hand with the softest smile she has ever seen, and she takes his hand as leverage to start standing up.

“Fine. But only because Fitz is too cute even after he betrayed me.”

Hunter hurries to her other side, offering his shoulder as another support point.”

“I am okay with that.” 


	9. “Do you trust me?” + Robbie x Joey

It’s his first mission, and he already hates it, thank you very much.  
  
First of all, he never wanted to be a superhero, or a powered person of any kind, for that matter. And much less to do it inside such an organization as S.H.I.E.L.D. But he didn’t choose to get his powers, and he didn’t choose that S.H.I.E.L.D. was the first one to offer him aid. For all that he hates this, he hated not being able to control his flaming head a lot more.  
  
The only bright spot on this crappy situation has been Joey. Joey, who was here before him, who has been kinder than anyone else, even with Robbie, that doesn’t know how to respond to kindness besides with growling. Joey, who got him to open up just a little bit in the middle of beers and _Los cazafantasmas._ Joey, who trained with him, and who somehow figured up that they could be good about keeping each other cool.  
  
All have been nice and peachy, but now they are taking by storm _another_ secret facility from the government, and no one has been able to explain to him easy and slow why. Maybe screaming at them that when you are Latino you don’t storm in a government building without good reason wasn’t the best way to go, but honestly. They should have known better.  
  
Anyway, Robbie is brooding up until the moment of landing, and he is not sure he will stop. But then Joey shows, serious face but soft eyes, and Robbie’s resolution melts a bit.  
  
“Ready, compañero?”  
  
Robbie shrugs.  
  
“Not really?”  
  
That gets Joey to smile.   
  
“That’s okay. I did awful my first time, and here I am. Do you trust me?” He stretches a hand towards him, and Robbie takes it. “I will be your side all the way.”  
  
Somehow, he gest the whole mission to not sound so bad.


	10. "I'm pregnant" + Huntingbird

Hunter smacks himself on one cheek and then the other. Adrenaline is useful in dangerous situations, but the part where it makes him hot, sweaty and jumpy surely does not help. Bullets are singing right and left above their heads, and he needs to keep his cool; he can not lose his mind, not when Bobbi is squatting right beside him.   
  
“Focus, Hunter. Focus,” he mumbles, and Bobbi flashes him a smile. Her gun is firm in her hand, and he will never stop admiring the way she doesn’t lose her shit even in the most stressful of situations.  
  
"Talking to yourself already?” She mocks him, and promptly stands up to shoot from above the pile of boxes they are hiding behind while Hunter covers her on the side.  
  
“Oh, yes. I need to give myself a reason to fight for, since, you know, I have no reason to complete this mission except for the appreciation I have for the head on top of my shoulders.” He grabs her hand despite the aggravating comment; bickering is what they do, but he doesn’t want her to forget for one second what matters.  
  
Bobbi avoids his eyes, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, and Hunter is flabbergasted. Is this Bobbi losing her cool? Of all the moments in life to-  
  
“If you want a reason to get the hell out of here, hear this.” She is still not looking at him, instead eyeing carefully her side, waiting for the next pause in the shootings to make a move. “I’m pregnant.”  
  
A rollercoaster of unexpected emotions overflows him, and that is saying something for someone who is in the middle of a shooting. Surprise, pride, happiness, love, fear. It’s not like he would have left Bobbi to fend for herself before, but now? Now he will defeat these people if he has to bite off their heads himself.   
  
“Barbara!” He hisses nonetheless; it wasn’t cool of her to do this to him.   
  
Bobbi finally looks at him, and her eyes are watery and warm, and bloody hell, he can not resist those eyes.   
  
“A good enough reason to cover my back?”   
  
In a way, she is not wrong.


	11. "I want to protect you.” + LegacyRider (Trip x Robbie)

When he notices he is being followed, Robbie picks up the pace. It’s not the first time it had happened, it won’t be the last and he knows what he oughts to do about it. But he is tired, so tired, and if there is any way these fuckers would leave him alone, he is willing to go the extra mile to try.  
  
“Hey, Reyes!” The voice at his back doesn’t belong to any of his bullies, and for a second, Robbie almost believes that this is worse. What in hell is Triplett doing running after him? _Pinche entrometido._ He relents his pace anyway. Trip catches up with him, breathless and fucking smiling. “Slow down, man. It’s almost like you wanted to shake me.”  
  
“I did.” Robbie wants to punch his teeth in, swipe that blinding smile from his face, but he got enough battles to fight without trying to pick one with someone who has only helped him during the last couple of weeks.   
  
Trip gives him a long whistle, and Robbie loosens his muscles a little. _It’s just Triplett. You don’t have to like him, but he is not gonna hurt you._  
  
“That’s alright. I just wanted to make sure you were doing fine, man.”  
  
Robbie gives him a grunt that he knows Trip could only interpret as an affirmative. Anyhow, Trip keeps on walking just a couple of steps behind him for another two blocks, when Robbie knows his house is in the other direction. When they are just five blocks from his home, Robbie stops cold dead on his feet, turns around to look at him with a hard stare.   
  
“What are you doing here, Triplett? I am fine, you checked, you can go on our fucking merry way.”   
  
Trip’s face grows serious; somehow he is even more handsome that way and Robbie _hates_ him.   
  
“I have seen the way they treat you at school. I just want to protect you, Reyes.”  
  
“I don’t need your protection,” Robbie spits at his feet and breaks into a sprint without waiting for an answer. He zigzags at every corner, hoping that this intruder will get lost in el barrio, and refusing to think about what Triplett just said.   
  
Because he is right, and Robbie does need protection, and care, and love, and isn’t that the most terrifying thought? 


	12. "Let's run away together" + Mayhunter

“Let’s run away together.”  
  
“Hunter.”  
  
“No, no, hear me out!” He stands up, gesturing wildly, while May looks at him from the corner of her eyes. “Imagine this: you, me, all the daiquiris you could drink, a luscious beach, sun lot-”  
  
“Hunter.” She throws a book right into his face, and Hunter catches it at the last second. “We’re doing inventory. Focus.”  
  
“But do we really have to?” He whines. It’s unfair, actually: the first free day they have together in ages and they are stuck doing inventory? May raises both her eyebrows and Hunter opens the book reluctantly. “You are so _amazing,_ love, why do you even bother with these menial tasks?”   
  
“Calling me amazing won’t get you out of this,” she admonishes him, and he grumbles. “The menial tasks give meaning to the bigger picture, believe me.” Something softens inside him at hearing her saying that, and he turns around from where he was counting ICER cartridges, just in time to catch her locking the door.  
  
“May, what-?”  
  
She turns, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.   
  
“Besides, who said that we can’t have our free day together right here?”


	13. “I’m going to kill you!” + LincolnJemma

“Jem. Hey, Jem.”   
  
Lincoln looks once again at his watch when he still gets no response from her. She is out like a light and he knows that what he is doing is risky, but now he is verging on too risky even for his own comfort.  
  
“Jemma, honey, you need to wake up.”  
  
That finally startles her, and she sits up brusquely, blood-shot eyes and disheveled hair. Lincoln cringes: he knows too well what is like to wake after a 25-minute power-nap wondering what year it is, and he feels for her.  
  
“Oh, god, how long did you let me sleep? Lincoln, I’m going to _kill_ you!”   
  
She is on a frenzy trying to get at her phone, and he tries to appease her with both hands raised.  
  
“Relax, we still have two hours before the test.”  
  
That seems to calm her down just a notch, because she stops moving crazily but still looks at him with pursued lips, unimpressed.  
  
“What do I always say about letting me sleep? You know better than this!”  
  
“I know, I am sorry.” He swallows down the excuse of how peaceful she looked; he knows it will go unappreciated. He sits on the sofa next to her, and she cuddles to his side with sleepy eyes, so she can not be _that_ mad. He knew that not crossing the two-hours threshold was the right decision. “But you know you do better after you had a little rest.”  
  
“Please, how could I do better than absolutely perfect.”  
  
He laughs, and surrounds her with his arms.  
  
“You know what? I don’t even have a comeback for that.”


	14. “Give me a chance” + JemmaLincoln

After the tears, comes the silence.  
  
Lincoln is sitting on the arm of the couch, his foot tapping nervously against the carpeted floor, deep dark rings under his eyes; he is full of nervous energy, ready to bolt out the door, withdrawal oozing of the outer layer of his skin, and Jemma is glad he hasn’t kicked her out yet.  
  
Lincoln breaks the silence when Jemma is still drying her cheeks.   
  
“I am just trying to be fair with you, Jemma.” His voice is raspy and sounds like he is barely keeping it together to not break into tears himself, and that only makes Jemma madder.   
  
“There is nothing fair about trying to make decisions for me like I am a child!”   
  
Lincoln opens his mouth to reply, but finally only sighs, his shoulders slumped down. She had known something was up for some time now, but how did she fail to put together all the signs before?   
  
He looks too tired to retort, and she presses on.   
  
“If _you_ don’t want me by your side, own up to it and tell me.” She crosses the flat towards him, their hands finding each other out of instinct, and when he looks down at her fingers tangled in his lap, his eyes start to water. Good. Crying it out will be good for him. “But if you still want me, and are only doing this because you think it is the best for me… then don’t. Give me a chance. I promise that what is best for both of us is that I stay.”  
  
He is crying now, silent tears falling down his cheeks, and Jemma presses her forehead against his.  
  
“I don’t want my failure to drag down your brilliant future.” His voice is tiny, scared, and Jemma’s heart clenches. What others may read as weakness is only strength to her.   
  
“You won’t.” She assures him, and though she feels terribly emotional, her tears stand at bay now. She knows that she can carry this through, and she will. “I will stay and we will be good for each other, okay?”  
  
His lips are trembling, and Jemma kisses him softly, pouring all her love for him onto the kiss. When they break apart, his eyes are soft, and Jemma smiles.  
  
“Okay.”


	15. “You’re the best” + Skimmons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A while ago I wrote a [ Peraltiago!AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15052916) for Skimmons, and it worked really well, so this is a tiny bit on that same vein.

The moment she gets to the rooftop, Daisy can not stop laughing. Sure, she is upset that all her hard work has been for naught- and for having to run up so many stairs, Simmons could have totally left that part out- but other than that, both May and she had this coming. Jemma is glorious getting out of her costume and explaining her plan, and Daisy gets literal jelly legs.  
  
“Just because I love Daisy and I admire Captain May, it doesn’t mean that I am not my own person with my own abilities and my own capacity for greatness.”   
  
Everybody is looking at her with a smile on their faces, and Daisy begins the clapping that runs through the entire precinct. Jemma bows down her head, but the brightness in her eyes tells the true story of how she feels. Daisy gets by her side in two long strides and plants an excited kiss on her lips.  
  
“That was a nice move, babe.” Her mind is saying _marry me marry me marry me_ but instead she decides on the aforementioned praise, “You are the best detective slash genius.”  
  
Jemma reveals in the praise and Daisy moves to leave place for the rest of their coworkers to congratulate her, because she can not hear anything besides her own wild heartbeat in her ears.  
  
She has a whole year to plan the next heist, and she literally can not wait.


	16. "Shut up and kiss me already" + Skimmons

For all that they’ve had their disagreements in the past, nothing has ever come to this.  
  
“You aren’t even close to being ready to be back in the field, Daisy, please!”   
  
Not for the first time, Jemma wishes she has built a bit of muscle alongside with brain during her school years. It’s not that she ever thinks it will come to physical force, not with Daisy, but she would like to be a bit more imposing than what her 5ft 4 and 110 pounds allow her.  
  
But Daisy’s determination comes from something way beyond the physical; this is what she believes is right, and Jemma knows she won’t let anything- or anyone- get in her way.  
  
“Jemma.” Her voice is calm, and Jemma feels like crying. “They need me and you know it.”  
  
She does know that, but it doesn’t mean she has to like it.  
  
“And for that you are going to put at risk the possibility of a full recuperation?” The anger is thinning quickly from her voice, and her orders are starting to sound more like pleas.  
  
Daisy takes two steps in wobbly feet and holds Jemma’s cheeks in between her hands.  
  
“I am sorry, but you know the answer to that.”  
  
Realizing the battle was already lost before it has begun, she changes tactics quickly.  
  
“Don’t overexert yourself, okay?” Daisy doesn’t respond, only keeps on smiling sweetly at her, and Jemma keeps on with her tirade. “Don’t go on the vanguard, keep behind until it becomes absolutely indispensable that you intervene, you get me?” She places two shaky hands on the collar of Daisy’s tactic shirt and smooths an invisible crease just to not look her in the eyes. "And if you die, I swear for everything you love, that I will _kill_ you.“   
  
"Jemma.” Her voice is loving, her eyes are clear, and Jemma clutches onto the front of her shirt like a lifeline. She knew what was the price of falling in love with a hero and now she gotta pay it. “Babe, shut up and kiss me already.”  
  
There is still a foot-long list of recommendations she could give, but there is also priorities; there is nothing she can do now to affect what Daisy will do, but she can still treasure this. So she goes onto her tiptoes and kisses her girlfriend with everything she got: if her worries won’t bring Daisy back, maybe this will. 


	17. “You’d make a great dad” + Fitzhunter

If he is being honest, ever since Bobbi, he never thought much about having children. Not that he gave it that much active thought while he was with Bobbi either, but it was something he supposed they were going to do, eventually: fulfilling expectancies from compulsory heteronormativity, probably.  
  
But then they broke up, and a shitton of things happened in between, and now he has Fitz, and they are here, and he is happy. And, honestly, he doesn’t need anything else. But he is looking at Fitz pushing Peggy as high as she can go on her swing, while Bobbi and Jemma pretend they are not making out two whole feet apart from him, and the warm thought just overcomes him, there is nothing else he can think besides: _You’d make a great dad, and I’d be so lucky for the chance to do it by your side._   
  
When he finally plops down next to him, Fitz is sweaty, sunburnt and exhausted, and Hunter has never loved him more. He knows he doesn’t need anything else. They don’t need anything else, but that doesn’t mean they can not want it.


	18. “Don’t die on me– Please.” + Fitzhunter

Of all the ways he imagined he could react when confronted with something like this- and he stresses over that possibility hard enough during sleepless nights- numbness was never high on that list.  
  
One can always learn something about oneself, he supposes.  
  
He feels hollow if he can say that at all, because mostly, he doesn’t feel, he just reacts: moves to different targets, charging against the neverending flow of attackers, shooting like an automaton. The fact that Fitz has been shot is barely a blip on the back of his skull, and honestly, Hunter doesn’t know what would be worse: this absolute lack of sensitivity or letting his emotions get the best out of him in such a decisive moment.   
  
Jemma skids on the floor by his side, barking commands back and forth, and Bobbi carries Fitz’s unconscious body back to the Zephyr, shielding both of them, and only after the three of them are finally safe inside, Hunter begins to feel the dark liquid of fear choking on his lungs.  
  
He puts a new charger on his ICER and follows Daisy’s instructions to watch her back while she tries to quake apart the hardcore of the invaders. He has no time to devote to pessimistic thinking, so while he puts a bullet in between someone’s eyes, he can only think _Please, Fitz, don’t die on me. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you, don’t you dare die first._


	19. "Can I kiss you right now?" + Fitzhunter

He was just noticing that he forgot to change his pajama pants before leaving his bedroom, still undecided between going back or just winging it that Hunter came right at him, running for his life, sashaying at a corner.  
  
“Fitz, mate! Glad to find you!” Hunter stops to a halt in front of him, and Fitz presses his hands against his chest to stop him from toppling over. Yep, nothing else, no hiding motive whatsoever. “Can I kiss you right now?”  
  
Now, this is either an acid trip or a dream, and since he is pretty sure he is not on drugs- besides caffeine-, he’s got to be dreaming. That would also explain the pajama pants. Yeah! It makes sense, doesn’t it?   
  
Since it’s only a dream, his reply comes out smooth and sure, “Yes.” A wide grin spreads all over Hunter’s face, and when he is already leaning close to kiss him, Fitz hesitates. This feels too real to be a dream. “Wait! Why?”  
  
Hunter stops, a bare three inches from him, close enough that their noses are touching, and Fitz can smell his toothpaste and panics for a second thinking that if he didn’t put on proper clothes, maybe he didn’t brush his teeth either?  
  
“Bobbi gave me five minutes to come and kiss you, and it took me long enough to find you.” Fitz’s heart sinks. A bet. Of course. There was no way this could be real _real._ “Apparently I’ve been going on and on about you enough to piss her off, and she said that I could do something about it, or she would. So, I figured out, nothing ventured nothing gained, am I right? Anyway, can I?”  
  
“Yes.” The reply comes out of his lips before he can even overthink it. It might be a dream, and he is not entirely convinced it’s not a bet or a joke yet, but screw it. Whatever this it, at least he’s gonna get something he wants out of it.  
  
Hunter- finally- leans the last inches and presses his lips against Fitz’s. He is hyperaware of everything, from the rough sensation of his scruff to his long hands drawing circles on his hips. It’s a tame kiss by any standards, short and chaste, but they are standing on a hallway after all.   
  
“Did you mean it?” He asks when they break apart, his fists still full of Hunter’s shirt. “Did you mean everything you said about you thinking of me and whatnot?”  
  
It takes Hunter a moment to process, his eyelids fluttering open slowly.  
  
“Yeah.” His voice is rough, and Fitz’s stomach decides he doesn’t need breakfast after all. “Every word.”  
  
He nods, and clasps one of Hunter’s hands in his, leading him.  
  
“Come on, I forgot to put on a proper outfit this morning. You can help.”


	20. "I want to take care of you" + FitzHunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: blood mentions, trauma

The water swirls down the drain in crimson tentacles, and Hunter can not take his eyes apart from it. It has been long enough that the water hitting his back is ice cold, but time is an illusion, or so Fitz likes to say.   
  
He has never understood it, not really. It went beyond not understanding the math, or not agreeing with the stance in regards to the Universe you need in order to believe it: Hunter couldn’t believe it because time is something that happened to him, something that is. How can something that _is_ be relative, inconsistent, fallacious?  
  
Until now. Now, that there are bloodstains on his skin that don’t wear off, no matter how much he scrubs them. Now, that the last two hours of his life play in his mind in a neverending loop. Now, that it doesn’t matter anymore what is, only what was and isn’t anymore.  
  
He is vaguely aware of the moment Fitz gets inside the bathroom, his own tactic vest haphazardly discarded on the floor, his hands- warm, unblemished- stinging on his skin. Fitz speaks, but no sound reach Hunter’s ears. Ah, yes. The relativity of time. Fitz could never reach him because Hunter is living now two hours in the past.  
  
Fitz cuts off the water and the end of the scarlet whirlwind is somewhat of a relief. It doesn’t mean he is not soaking wet with the blood of his teammates anymore, but at least he doesn’t have to look at it. Besides, that blood belongs _with_ him, it wouldn’t be fair to try to wash it off.   
  
Fitz wraps a towel around his shoulders, and Hunter goes obediently to his feet, allows him to rub him dry and put him on a clean t-shirt- what even is the point when the stains are on him. Only when Fitz draws him close, his arms stretched tight around him, the touching seems to allow him to somehow broke the haze of numbness that is enveloping Hunter.   
  
“I want to take care of you.” He says, and Hunter looks at him with vacant eyes. He wants to see him, the beauty of his blue eyes, the warmth of his love, but he can only see the blood dripping from his hands. “Please let me.”  
  
He nods. What difference does it make? Fitz can not reach him.


	21. “It’s lonely here without you." + Fitzdaisy

The sheets are cool under her skin and Daisy shivers at the contact. Generally, it would be lovely, but right now she doesn’t have Fitz to warm her with his furnace of a body, and she stays just like that. Cool. Cold. Lonely.  
  
Her phone rings at that precise moment, and maybe they are connected in a transcendent way, or maybe he just misses her too. Daisy is not sure which option makes her feel cozier. She answers the call and places her phone on speaker on top of her pillow, the bed feeling warmer already.  
  
“Hey, stranger.”  
  
“Hey, you.”  
  
He sounds sleepy, and stealing a glance at the clock, Daisy frowns.  
  
“Isn’t it late for you there, mister?”  
  
He yawns, and Daisy can’t help a smile.  
  
“Yeah. A bit. But I wanted to say goodnight to you in bed.”  
  
She’s impressed that he knows her schedule- and the way she doesn’t follow it- so well, but doesn’t voice it: she doesn’t want him pulling this stunt for the entire two weeks till he comes back.  
  
“That’s sweet.”  
  
“Uh-uh. It’s lonely here without you.”  
  
“Yeah, me too.” She chokes a bit on the last part and swallows down before continuing. She won’t cry with him on the phone over something as silly as missing him. “Though I am not at a four-star hotel, so I don’t know why you are the one that is complaining.”  
  
“Everywhere is lonely without you. Everywhere is lovely with you.”  
  
Daisy snorts.  
  
“I can’t believe I married you.”  
  
“Too late to be having second thoughts. There are no refunds.”  
  
“The Divorce Office says otherwise.” He is pouting; she can’t see him, but she _knows_. Also, he is too sleepy to protest any further. “Go to sleep, Fitz. Dream of me.”  
  
She doesn’t get a reply, but his quiet breathing on the other side of the line is more comforting than anything else she could imagine.


	22. “I’m sick.” + Fitzdaisy

“I am sick, _Leopoldo_. Don’t you see? You better keep your distance from me.” Fitz rolls his eyes while he places the tray on the bedside table, and proceeds to empty it- chicken soup, a water bottle, some ibuprofen, a box of Kleenex and a eucalyptus diffusor- while he ignores Daisy’s pout. "You are no fun.”

“Jemma said it is not contagious. Forgive me if I trust her judgment more than yours on this matter.” He straightens up the covers, fluffs out her pillows and checks her forehead- luckily, the fever has receded, which explains how she now has energy enough to be dramatic. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugs, but a coughing fit interrupts the nonchalance of the gesture. Fitz moves to rub gentle circles on her back until it eases off. Daisy grabs his hand, once again using the destitute look on him. 

“Call the priest, call the lawyer, _Leopoldo_. I might not see another dawn.”

He gestures for her to sit up, a stern look on his face that would make Jemma proud. 

“I swear to god, _Margarita_ , I am gonna forbid Elena to ever see another _telenovela_ with you again!”


	23. "Did you do something to your hair?" + Fitzdaisy

“Now, did you do something to your hair?”  
  
He froze at hearing her voice but turned sharply immediately after, a threatening look on his eyes. Or, well, all the threatening a man can look like while sporting bubblegum pink hair.   
  
“Don’t say another word,” he hisses.   
  
Daisy snorts.  
  
“Why, I think you certainly look handsome.”  
  
“I am going to _kill_ Hunter.”  
  
“Oh, that is a plan I can certainly get behind.” She flops on his bed, and he pouts with no much of a result. “Changing his beer to almond milk worked nicely so what are we doing this time?”  
  
Fitz sits down on the floor and she pats him on the head.  
  
“Now, you know how he likes to leave his boots everywhere on base? I was thinking that it is never too late for a snake-in-my-boots prank…”


	24. “Are you flirting with me?” + Fitzdaisy

“Hey, Fitz. Are you awake?”  
  
Skye sure hopes he is because she didn’t break into a secret stash in the kitchen for him to not be awake to share it with her.  
  
“Skye.” He has a serious case of bedhead, but he is fully dressed; Skye wonders if he hastened to get dressed when she called or if he was lazing around in a plaid shirt and a tie. Neither of the options would really surprise her. “What are you doing awake at this hour?”  
  
She shrugs. “Can’t sleep.”  
  
“Right. Right.” He looks out of his depth for a second, his eyes looking around for something to hang on. “Would you like a, um, a cup of tea?”  
  
She has never been big on tea but they say it’s relaxing and it’s never too late to start, right?  
  
“Sure.”  
  
He seems relieved by her acceptance like he is now on a script he knows how to follow. They sit down on the kitchen while they wait for the kettle to heat up, and Skye offers him a handful of raisins. He pulls a face.   
  
“Why are you eating _this?”_  
  
“I broke into someone’s sweet stash, but I guess it was Ward’s because they only got this,” she explains while throwing one in her mouth.  
  
“Dear God, let me fix that.” He stands up but hesitates. “Close your eyes.”  
  
Skye pouts but does as he is asking.  
  
“Why, you won’t tell me where _your_ secret stash is?”  
  
“No, I’d rather keep surprising you.”  
  
His reply comes out so smoothly that Skye can’t help but open her eyes and catch him grabbing a box of strange-looking cookies from one of the cupboards.  
  
“Leopold Fitz, are you flirting with me?”   
  
“What, no, no, why, no, why would you say that?” He splutters, his face so red it looks like he is about to go off like a globe.   
  
Skye takes the box out of his hands and gives him an exaggerated wink.   
  
“Because I wouldn’t mind if you were.”


	25. “Dance with me!” + Fitzdaisy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If no one will give me the S2 AU Fitzdaisy content I deserve, fine, I’ll write it myself!

It has been a long time since they have felt this kind of freedom.  
  
Skye does not regret joining S.H.I.E.L.D.: it has given her friends and family, a purpose in life and more than one hell of an adventure. But sometimes she still misses certain aspects of her life pre-S.H.I.E.L.D., like, in this case, the liberty to have a night off without any kind of worry.   
  
This is not the case tonight, but it is close enough: Jemma is back, Coulson is doing better, Fitz is recovering nicely, and for now, they can breathe.   
  
Problems are, one, they still gotta keep themselves to a secret base and, two, apparently Fitz doesn’t know how to unwind. Anti-perks of spending your teens in college and your adulthood in a secret organization, she supposes.

They are laying on the floor of her bunk, their legs propped up on the bed, and Skye is drilling him with everything she got.  
  
“I can’t believe you never had a proper Friday night of fun.”  
  
“Ex-excuse me, you have seen the, um, the Boiler Room. We, we had fun there!” He is so outraged and, honestly, he doesn’t realize that teasing him is fun mostly because it’s easy to hit a nerve with him.   
  
“Yeah, playing _pool_.” She puts extra disdain on the word just for the kicks; she actually believes the game is quite fun. “I also imagine you and Simmons drilled each other with nerdy questions and had a _blast.”_  
  
She gloats on his offended gasp; he is so cute when he blushes like this.  
  
“Oh, because I imagine you are, um, you are an _expert_ in having fun, aren’t you?” He can’t even insult her properly; honestly, she could just eat him with a spoon.  
  
“At least I know how to dance!”  
  
He pouts, and Skye tangles her socked feet with his to soften the blow.  
  
“I-I know how to dance!” Before she can mock-ask him if he took an elective for that at the Academy, his face and his voice soften, tender with happy memories. “Mum taught me when I was little.”   
  
Her heart pangs; she has loved Mary Fitz by proxy ever since Fitz mentioned for the first time, and this time is no exception.  
  
“That I need to see!” She springs to her feet and types excitedly at her phone until an upbeat song starts playing. “Dance with me!”  
  
Fitz gets tangled with his own legs with Skye’s haste to get him up.  
  
“Wait, wait, I don’t, I don’t know how to dance _that!”_  
  
She grabs both his hands with her arms crossed, and starts spinning with him.  
  
“Then improvise!”  
  
He does three full turns with her and finally untangles their hands. She is not sure if she is dizzy from the movement or from his smile. Probably both.   
  
“Okay, but let me do it my way.”  
  
Skye nods, breathless, and grins when he places a tentative hand on her lower back and with the other grasps her right hand tenderly.  
  
“I do not think this song goes with this kind of dance,” she teases him, but she is smiling widely, and allows him to pull her close.  
  
“If you want to dance with me, then let me lead,” he whispers hotly in her ear, and she shivers.   
  
“Okay.” She follows the balancing in slow steps he makes her do, and when she is feeling overwhelmed with the need for more, she uses her hand on his shoulder to poke him. _Get yourself in check, Skye, dammit._ “Just don’t step on my toes, okay?”  
  
His outraged face while he splutters is very well worth ruining the moment. 


	26. “Are you upset with me?” + Fitzdaisy

Skye can not stop looking at her hands. It is kind of understandable, considering she has them completely wrapped up, covering the uncountable tiny cuts and microfractures, and that she is almost sure they are the source of some… pretty upsetting earthquakes, for lack of a better word.  
  
“Come on, let’s change your ah, um, your bandages.”   
  
Fitz’s voice is soft and his hands are gentle when he grabs hers and starts unwrapping the bloody dressings. Skye wonders where has gone the squeamish guy that would gag at the sole mention of blood. He has changed in more ways than one during the last odd year, and she was too busy running away from having to acknowledge that he changed at all to notice it.  
  
She sits in idle silence while he works; his hands tremble every once in a while, but he works slowly and meticulously till she has again two bandage gloves instead of hands- but at least they are clean ones.  
  
“There you go. Good, um, good as new.”  
  
He is trying to be cheerful, but his positivity is frayed around the edges, like a mask that doesn’t fit well. Skye- who has seen him grumpy and grumpier- would prefer him acting snappy and dry over this falseness.  
  
“Fitz,” she begins, and her voice sounds even weaker than she imagined. “Are you upset with me?”  
  
He raises his head so fast she winces.  
  
“Wha, what? Why on earth would I be upset with you?”  
  
Skye shrugs, the movement helping her swallow her tears.  
  
“For dragging you into this mess of lies and secrecy?” She does not say _‘for killing Trip’_. There is honesty and then there is straight-up self-annihilation.  
  
Fitz scoffs, and Skye smiles: that is more like the Fitz she knows and loves.  
  
“I am not upset with you, Skye. I am upset on behalf of you.” He places a shy hand on her elbow, and Skye holds onto it for dear life. “I am sorry, um, I am sorry I can’t be more, more helpful.”  
  
A second-long prospect flashes inside her mind: how it would be like to be going through this alone; throwing her arms around his neck is the only admissible reaction to that.   
  
“You have no idea how great you are being.”


	27. “You’re one hell of a guy.” + Fitzdaisy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place on the [ Pour your love on me](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1212381) verse, but there is no need to know anything about it to get this one.

Fitz doesn’t find out until they are moving together.   
  
He is arranging the last of her boxes for her to put away later, and since- of course- Skye didn’t label them, he opens each one, scans quickly the contents and yells it at the kitchen so she can yell back orders of where to put it. She is shelving her kitchenware, smiling to herself, already feeling the glow of domesticity like a soft mantle.   
  
“Hey, love, who is this?”   
  
She turns around and he is leaning on the doorway, wearing a worn white t-shirt and soft sweatpants, and her heart skips a beat. He is holding a picture frame, and she takes advantage of the excuse to slip in between his arms, her back pressed against his chest, his hands finding her hips like second nature. He presses a soft kiss behind her ear, and it takes Skye a minute to be able to focus on the photo.  
  
When she finally does, another smile comes to her lips; she does not believe in God, but what a worldly blessing to have more than one person in your life you have genuinely loved, and who have genuinely loved you back.   
  
“That is Piper, my first girlfriend.”  
  
She doesn’t notice the sudden silence at first, but then Fitz asks, “You mean like a girl-friend, or like a _girlfriend_ girlfriend?”  
  
Only then Skye realizes she has never mentioned Piper before. Desperately, she scans her mind for any moment ever since they met when she must have mentioned something, any kind of comment about a girl she had liked in the past or a female classmate she found attractive. She draws an absolute blank and her soul starts spiraling down, panic rising in her stomach.  
  
His voice was leveled, neutral, he hasn’t slackened on the embrace, and she can’t remember either any instance where he made any kind of queerphobic comment. Problem is, she loves this man, but if he is gonna turn out to be a homophobic shit, well, she’d rather find out sooner than later.   
  
“ _Girlfriend_ girlfriend,” she says, finally, and hates herself because her voice is trembling.  
  
The seconds that follow her statement that might as well have been a full-out confession, feel like eons to her, panic dripping thick from her skin. 

And then, “You never told me about her.”  
  
She turns around within his arms, and looks at him; his eyes are soft and he is smiling, and she breathes, just a little.  
  
“Would you like that?”   
  
“Yes, of course. If you want to tell me, that is.”  
  
There will be a time when they will talk more comfortably, with labels and definitions on the open, with Skye telling him about her full journey, and Fitz confessing to a couple of surprising truths of his own. But for now, her heart is still beating too fast, and her world has not crumbled down in nastiness, and she prefers to cherish that.   
  
“Have I told you lately that you are one hell of a guy, Leopold?”  
  
He grimaces at the use of his first name, but the distaste doesn’t hide his prideful blush.  
  
“No, but I could get used to that.”  
  
She kisses one of his shoulders and punches him softly on the other. It wouldn’t do to allow him to get too cozy.   
  
“Come on, let’s fix up the last box while I tell you about this hell of a gal I used to date.”


	28. "Why do you hate me?" + Fitzskimmons

“No. I refuse. I can’t for the love of me take another step.” Fitz lets himself flop to the grass. The sun is hitting him straight in the eyes, but his arms hurt too much to even consider raising them to his face. If this makes him blind too, so be it.  
  
Daisy pokes him with the point of her foot, and he only makes a small noise of discomfort in protest.   
  
“Aw, come on, Fitzy! We are only halfway done!”   
  
Jemma stretches her hand at him, but he won’t fall for that this time.   
  
“We all decided that exercising together would be a good improvement in our love life and our _love_ life,” Jemma reminds him while she does that eyebrows thingy that always makes both him and Daisy so uncomfortable when she does it in public.  
  
“You made me walk for forty minutes already. Uphill. That’s the opposite of love.” He pouts, and with a sigh, Daisy sits down by his side, blocking the sun from his face. God, he loves her. He snakes to place his head in her lap and she accepts him willingly. “Why do you hate me, girls?” He asks in a mock-dramatic voice, even while Daisy rubs his temples lovingly.  
  
“Don’t make me play the one who arrives last sleeps alone tonight card, Fitz!”  
  
“The competitive approach only works with you, Jemma,” points Daisy. “Come on, give the guy a rest and then we can turn back.”  
  
“Fine.” Jemma sits down, her own head finding her way on the crook’s of Daisy’s neck, and Fitz can physically see the tension dissipating from her muscles while Daisy rubs her shoulders. “Only because the view is lovely here.”  
  
Reinvigorated by Daisy’s ministrations, he stretches his arm until he can lace his fingers with Jemma’s  
  
“Oh yes, the fact that Daisy is loving both of us up doesn’t have anything to do with that, I imagine.”  
  
Jemma pouts at him.  
  
“I hate you.”  
  
“Told you!”


	29. "Let's have a baby" + Fitzskimmons

“Guys. Hey, guys. I just had a wonderful idea.” She kicks on Fitz’s shin until he stops making out with Jemma, and they both turn their eyes on her. Daisy waits an added second for effect. “Let’s have a baby.”  
  
Jemma groans, and Fitz chokes. All things considered, that is not such an awful reaction as she could have gotten.  
  
“Wha-what?” Fitz looks like he is on the verge of having a stroke, and Jemma redirects her attention to him.   
  
“Smile at me, Fitz, please.” She waits to see that his smile is symmetrical even if weak and then turns to send a nasty look Daisy’s way. “Why would you say something like that, Daisy?”  
  
Daisy pouts, and Jemma rolls her eyes but pulls on her hand until she is sprawled on top of both their laps.  
  
“Sorry for saying that I love you both and I want to spend the rest of my life with you two and have a family together.” The change of position makes the alcohol go more quickly to her brain, and she feels tipsier and more lightheaded than before.  
  
“You said nothing of the kind,” Fitz points out, and though his eyes still look panicked, his fingers are running smoothly through her hair.  
  
Daisy shrugs as well as she can in a horizontal position.  
  
“It was implied, you guys. You take thew romanticism out of everything.”  
  
Jemma looks affronted- being called unromantic is a sore sport for her-, but Fitz laughs softly. His mouth looks finger-licking good from where she is laying, and she drags him down to kiss her. Jemma’s hand finds her way around her waist while they are kissing, and Daisy squeezes her fingers affectionately.   
  
“Let’s talk about this again when we are less drunk and less horny,” Fitz proposes when they break apart the kiss.  
  
Daisy would like to give him an answer, but Jemma’s throat looks too tempting to not pull herself up in order to lick at it. The attack takes Jemma by surprise, and Daisy can not see but can imagine the way she is looking at Fitz with darkened eyes from over Daisy’s shoulders.   
  
“Let’s.”


	30. “Stop being so cute” + Fitzskimmons

Jemma Anne Simmons never thought she would live to see a moment in her life when studying would be considered by her own self as a problem. As a chore. As not her priority.   
  
And yet, here they are.  
  
“Ugh, could you two just stop?” She is being unfair and she knows it: just because she needs to study it doesn’t mean that Fitz and Daisy can’t go about their merrier lives, but honestly, she would have expected more sympathy from two people with such caring hearts. “Stop being so… cute with each other. It is distracting.”  
  
Daisy pulls apart from where she was painting Fitz’s nails while draped over his lap and looks at her, confused.  
  
“You said that you couldn’t hang out tonight, that we should do our own thing.” She doesn’t sound angry, but tension is high in Jemma’s bloodstream, and she can’t help feeling a potential blow-up forming.   
  
“Yes, because I need to study. This test is no joke.” She is stressed, under-rested and overworked, and she knows it is not fair to impose her needs on them. She is torn between what she needs to do and what she wants to do, and as much as she wants them both to sweep her apart from her obligations, she also wants them to understand that putting on the hard work and getting the results is important for her too.  
  
Fitz stretches his arms above his head and stands up. Jemma winces: his nails will be surely messed up now. For all the times in which Daisy mediates between them, this is one of those times where he is the one that understands her better.  
  
“Wanna get started on dinner, Daisy?”  
  
Daisy’s gaze goes to him like a butterfly to a light, and he pulls her to the kitchen; Jemma knows there will be little cooking and a lot of soft touches and shaking breaths. But a compromise is a compromise, and if they put a little on their part, she can make an effort so out of sight can be out of mind.  
  
She pushes herself back into focus, and when they come back two hours later, with renovated affection, a hot meal and a rerun of Scrubs already set up, she honestly doesn’t feel resentful for their puffed lips and disheveled clothes.


	31. "Can we cuddle? ” + Fitzskimmons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With bonus Anthony for jour enjoyment!

It’s the third time Anthony wakes up during the night, and a collective groan follows the baby’s cries.  
  
“I will get him, you two get back to sleep,” Fitz mumbles, trying to fit his feet in the slippers.  
  
Daisy sits up in the bed, her hair an enormous mess, and watches as Fitz lifts the baby and checks his diaper.  
  
“Just bring him back to bed, Fitz.”  
  
Fitz hesitates, Anthony’s cries easing away by his rocking.  
  
“You think Jemma will be kay with that?” He whispers.  
  
Daisy rolls her eyes.

“I know she likes to pretend we shouldn’t bring him in, but then she is the first one to do it.” Daisy looks down at Jemma, who is very obviously pretending to be still asleep, in a half-fond, half-exasperated kind of way.  
  
Fitz sits down on the bed, Antony safely tucked against his chest. “What do you think, mom?” Daisy nudges her gently, and Jemma lets out a long groan. “Can we cuddle?” He is pulling a ridiculous face, a big pout and a sad, kicked-puppy look in his blue eyes. Somehow Anthony seems to know what facade his dad is pulling, and turns a similar doleful look on her.  
  
“Fine, fine!” She pretends to be mad while she turns around, so Daisy can spoon her and stretches her arms so Fitz gives her the baby. “But only for tonight.”   
  
She has no comments on the fact that they end up on doing that same charade almost every night.


	32. ”You know we can’t keep this up forever” + Fitzskimmons

“You know we can’t keep this up forever,” Fitz mumbles against the nape of Daisy’s neck. She retaliates by placing her frozen feet in between of his shins, and he hisses but places his arm across her waist anyway.  
  
“Why not?” She mumbles back, already half asleep. “I see no problem with this.”  
  
“That’s until May finds out about everything,” Jemma points out, the _woosh-woosh_ of the brushing of her hair enticing enough to make Daisy open her eyes again.  
  
“Cute of you to think that May doesn’t know everything that goes on in this base.”  
  
A long silence follows her statement, and then both Fitz and Simmons reply, “Fair enough.”  
  
“Anyway, I didn’t mean that we should come clean to prevent May from finding the wrong way, though- _scary._ I meant that I want everyone to know. They are important, and this is important, and I think we should share things that matter with people that matter.”  
  
Daisy turns around on the bed, her hand going to his cheek.   
  
“Aw, Jemma, look at out kind-hearted nerd!”  
  
“Don’t let yourself be fooled by the sentiment, Daisy: he is only aiming to get a bigger bed out of this.”  
  
“You know what? I take it back. You two are awful, and you can start finding another room to go sneaking in the middle of the night!”


	33. "Are you jealous?" + Fitzskimmons/Fitz&Hunter

His sore feet almost start singing in relief the moment he finally sits down. He can not imagine how good it will feel when he gets home and takes off his shoes. Probably songs will be written about the magnificence of that experience.  
  
“Hey, mate.” Hunter sits down on the chair next to his, and Fitz raises his beer in greeting. “Can I ask you a question?”  
  
That gives Fitz pause: it is very unlike Hunter to beat around the bush instead of going straight for the throat.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Hunter takes a long swig of his own beer, his gaze lost in the dance floor, and Fitz waits him out, nerves crippling on his skin.  
  
“Are you jealous?” It feels like a convoluted question, and it takes Fitz a second to process it, follow Hunter’s gaze to where Daisy is dipping Jemma in the dance floor, and only then he understands.  
  
“Honestly? No.” Hunter turns around, his brow furrowed and Fitz shrugs. “My brain tells me that maybe I should be, but my heart doesn’t want to be.” He looks at his girls, Jemma giggling while Daisy makes her do a sensual turn, and he can’t help but smile. “I love them and feel loved by them too much to leave place in my heart for jealousy.”  
  
Hunter nods slowly, deep in reflexion, and Fitz loosens the knot of his tie: Jemma is now kissing the hollow of Daisy’s collarbones and suddenly he feels breathless.  
  
“Is that easy, hmm?”  
  
Fitz looks at him from the corner of his eye; maybe he should push the issue and make Hunter tell him what is on his mind, or maybe it is not time for that yet. The difference is subtle and hard to notice.  
  
“No, it is not.” He follows Hunter’s eyes to the bar, where Bobbi and May are trying each other’s drinks, and he smiles. “It is really hard. It takes work, and a conscious effort to not let yourself be ruled by doubts and insecurities, and a shitton of other things. But, Hunter?” He waits for Hunter to look at him again, a trembling smile on his lips. “It is also very worth it.”


	34. “Is that my shirt?”+ Fitzskimmons

Daisy is sure that there are not many better things than waking mid-morning on a Saturday with the smell of pancakes and coffee. Of course, she could ask for her partners to be still in bed with her, but since it is obvious they are putting together an awesome breakfast, she can not complain.  
  
But then she enters the living room, and there is Simmons languishing on the couch with a book, and apparently, the morning _could_ be improved. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and Daisy hugs her from behind, her naked collarbone too much of a temptation to resist. She places an open-mouthed kiss on the base of her spine; Jemma smells deeply like Daisy herself, and it fires up something primal in her stomach.  
  
“Good morning,” she murmurs, lips against skin, and relishes in the feeling of the well-known cloth under her fingertips, curiosity and arousal firing on her veins alike. “Is that my shirt?”  
  
Jemma hasn’t even opened her mouth to reply yet that there is already an entire fantasy taking shape inside Daisy’s mind: Jemma, small and delicate, fluffed up entirely in Daisy’s clothes, her milky legs resting on Daisy’s lap… And then Fitz comes from the kitchen in a rush, and Daisy’s attention shifts to him.  
  
“Jemma, what is taking you so long?" 

He stops to a halt at seeing the scene: Jemma on the couch, Daisy’s arm stretched possessively and sensually over her ribs. His cheeks take up a furious blush quickly, and Daisy is not sure if it’s embarrassment or interest. Probably both. And then she realizes that he is, too, wearing one of her t-shirts. 

Now, _that_ is odd.  
  
Jemma uses Daisy’s clothes regularly and liberally- for comfort, for sexy reasons or just because- and the inverse is also true. But Daisy has never seen Fitz wear as much of a woman’s scarf, much less something like a top. It doesn’t look… untoward on him, though. Sure, it is one of the long, big and stretched band t-shirts that she uses as pajamas, but it still is a size too small for him, and it shows on his shoulders and his waist. It makes him look broader and taller, and her mouth waters.   
  
Damn, she just woke up and these two are trying to kill her.  
  
But as enticing as this is, it’s also sketchy as all hell.  
  
"Why are you two wearing my clothes?” She asks, squinting her eyes. “It is not strange for Jemma, but you, Fitz? What are you two up to?”  
  
Now that she has moved and can see Jemma’s eyes for the first time, she can see that there is a heated gleam on them; if she had gone for a good morning kiss, she would have noticed sooner that there was something not right.   
  
Solemnly, Jemma stretches her arm and points to a corner, Daisy turns around and bends in half laughing when she sees the bone of contention: a full hamper, that, she admits, was her responsibility to take for laundry this week.  
  
“Oh, I see. I didn’t wash your clothes as I was supposed to so you retaliated by wearing mine.”  
  
“Exactly.” There is a note of triumph on Jemma’s voice, and it fills Daisy’s heart with endearment.  
  
Instead of replying, Daisy goes to the kitchen to check that everything is turned off, and when she comes back she just pushes Fitz on the couch and follows him suit without a word. They both let out weak cries of outrage, but Daisy ignores them while she pulls Jemma on her lap and settles her back against Fitz’s chest.   
  
“Sorry I slacked on my chores, but babes, you got this whole punishment business wrong. Because, Fitz, you look handsome as hell and, Jemma, you smell nice enough to eat.”  
  
It’s Fitz’s turn now to kiss besides her ear, a breathy press of lips that leaves her trembling and makes her pull Jemma closer.  
  
“Who said that we got it wrong?”


	35. “I need a hug” + Fitzskimmons

Ever since she got back, Fitz and Skye- _Daisy, Daisy, Daisy_ \- have kept their prudent distance. It’s not that they have been unattentive or uncaring: only that they know she had been alone for so long that overcrowing her will do her no good. There are certain things that only time- and a healthy amount of therapy- can fix.   
  
At her request, Fitz has also stopped sleeping by her bedside every night. She is determined to keep herself afloat, without needing him there to fight away nightmares or to remind her how to breathe properly. Maybe it’s not the wisest decision she has ever made, but she won’t go telling him, telling _them_ , that. Being strong starts with deciding to be strong, isn’t that how it works?  
  
But there is only so much of that ideal that can still stand when she is alone at night, looking at the ceiling and feeling every second sliding of her skin, thick as years. A big part of her recovery has been about getting used again to the abundance of overwhelming stimuli, but a small part has also been about re-learning how not to be alone and that now she doesn’t have to do everything all by herself anymore.  
  
So, instead of keep on suffering all by her lonesome, she gets up, goes on tiptoes to Fitz’s bunk and punches in the code she knows by heart.   
  
“Jemma?” Skye- _Daisy’s_ voice welcomes her, and she smiles. She chose Fitz because chances were higher to get him on base than Daisy, but she is so very glad that they are here together. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Um, yes. I just…” She inhales and exhales. There is an extra difficulty on having to ask for what she needs- she has never been good at that, not even before Hell-, but her heart rate decreases with Fitz’s cologne floating to her nose and Daisy with bedhead looking at her with soft eyes. “I need a hug.”  
  
Daisy pushes gently on Fitz’s back; he turns around 45º degrees but keeps on snoring quietly, and Jemma’s heart is overwhelmed with fondness. There is an open space on the bed now between her and Fitz, and Daisy pats it invitingly.   
  
“Come here.”   
  
She climbs into the bed carefully to not wake up Fitz. It is easy to snuggle against his back, all of him warm and soft. Daisy drapes her arm around her waist, her hand finding Jemma’s stomach, and pushes herself close as she can go, surrounding her with their combined body warmth. It could be smothering, but it’s soothing instead.   
  
“Is this okay?” She murmurs softly on Jemma’s ear.   
  
“Yeah. Yeah, it really is.”   
  
For the first time since she came back, she feels finally home. 

**Author's Note:**

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